The Sheik's Safety. Dana Marton
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Fatima and Lamis sat, and she sank onto the carpet next to them, the air leaving her lungs with a whoosh as a strange sensation sucked in like quicksand every coherent thought in her mind. The rest of the tent dimmed then began to spin slowly. The food, she thought. She had eaten too much too fast. She held fast to his piercing gaze, clear and steady.
“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.” His deep voice filled the tent as well as her chest cavity.
She nodded, unable to form words. If only he knew.
“Exposure can tax the body,” he said.
Of course. That was why she was feeling so discombobulated. She needed to drink more, eat enough to regain her strength.
“Have you remembered anything?” His gaze was mesmerizing.
“No,” she croaked out her first word at last, and hoped to hell it sounded convincing.
He nodded. “You will stay here until you do.”
“No.” The protest flew from her lips. “Thank you for your hospitality.” She tried to temper it, to give him a good, logical reason. “I need to contact the embassy as soon as possible. There might be people worried about me.”
He gave her a long, hard look.
She pushed on. “How far are we from Tihrin, the town you mentioned?”
“About three hundred kilometers. What is your name?”
“I don’t remember.” He’d asked her that before. Was he trying to trip her up?
“I can help you hide from those who seek to harm you.”
His words sounded sincere. Too bad she had no idea what he was getting at. Did he know about the plane crashing? Was whoever shot it down hunting her? All the more reason to get to Tihrin fast. “Thank you,” she said. I think.
“There are those who seek to harm me. A friend who might lead me to my enemies would prove a good friend indeed and would be well rewarded,” he went on.
Huh? The oasis. Did he think she knew the men who had attacked him? “I would help you if I could.”
This much was true. She did not wish to see him dead.
Voices rose outside the tent, men yelling.
“When your memory returns, I want to be told at once.” He sat without moving, his gaze not leaving her for a second. Indeed, it had not left her since she had come in.
A woman called out and Dara glanced in the direction of the voice, realizing for the first time that the entrance flap of the tent was open to the outside. Saeed responded in Arabic and the woman stepped in, carrying a pail.
“This is Shadia. She took care of you when you arrived,” Saeed said. “She wishes to take care of your eye infection.”
Dara rubbed her eye. Eye infection. Great. Damn this stupid sand that got in everywhere and irritated everything.
The woman, her clothes worn but clean, settled down next to her, dipped a scrap of wool into the dark yellow liquid in the pail.
And then Dara got a whiff of it. “What’s that?”
The intensity on Saeed’s face relaxed into watchfulness, with some humor glinting around his eyes. “Camel urine. It’s a very strong disinfectant.”
Okay then. She came to her feet startling the woman. “No, thank you.”
“She already treated you with it several times when you were unconscious.”
Dara made a note not to pass out ever again as long as she lived. People did weird stuff to you, abusing your weakness.
“Thank you.” She bowed to the woman. “I’m much better now.”
Shadia looked confused, then shook her head with disapproval when Saeed translated, but picked up her bucket and left the tent.
Dara sat back down. Close call with camel urine averted. What else had they done to her while she was out? She had a feeling she didn’t want to know.
“Shadia is a very competent servant,” Saeed said. “You can trust yourself to her. If the eye gets worse, you will have to do something to treat it.”
“I’ll make sure to see a doctor in Tihrin.” She stared at the hint of a grin that hovered over his masculine lips. The man had a mouth to die for.
He looked toward the tent’s opening and she followed his gaze, watching a man approach. His brother, she knew without being told. Saeed looked like some ancient Bedouin warlord, terror of the caravans. The younger man who entered the tent looked smoother, boyishly handsome instead of ruggedly so, like an actor Hollywood would choose to play Saeed’s role in the movie made about him.
He greeted Saeed without taking his eyes off her. That was different, too—his irises were golden brown instead of blue. They shone with intensity as he took her in.
Saeed said something to him. He didn’t respond.
“My brother, Nasir,” he said then.
Nasir nodded to her, said something to Saeed that made him stand.
“I must leave. Welcome to our tent. If you need anything, you need only to ask one of my sisters.” He stepped through the flap and after a few moments called back for Nasir.
And then, the younger man finally dropped his gaze from her face and reluctantly left.
Phew. Double whammy. Dara took a giant breath and felt the air flood her lungs. She had barely breathed while the men were in there. Fatima and Lamis stood, so she did, too, registering for the first time this side of the tent. The divider looked stunning from here. It wasn’t badly woven as she’d first thought, but had the good side toward the men’s section.
Carpets covered most of the sand, except for around the fire. An ancient curved sword hung from one of the poles. She made a mental note of that. Better than nothing.
A strange contraption sat in the corner. A camel saddle, she realized after a moment. She spotted two ammunition belts as she turned, but no guns. Then she didn’t have the chance to gawk any longer as both Fatima and Lamis were already on the other side of the divider, expecting her to follow them.
She went straight to the carpet and blankets she’d woken up on, sat and ate the remainder of her food, drank some water and lay down. She had to regain her full strength then get to town. If an opportunity didn’t present itself, she’d create one.
She kept her eyes closed, pretending to sleep, not wanting to be bothered, and especially not wanting to be asked any questions she was not at liberty to answer.
The women chatted on in the corner, paying little mind to her. Good. She needed